all your perfectly delivered lines (they don't fool me)
by imperfectandchaotic
Summary: "Isaac James Lahey if you ever leave me alone in a hospital without answering your phone again I am going to kick your supernatural ass into the next millenium, do you hear me?" or: Lydia and Isaac and aftermaths. [5th in the 'toss me a heavy rope' series]


**all your perfectly delivered lines (they don't fool me)**

**Notes: **what can I say their fictional dynamic is my favourite. Set post - 3.10 though I had to skew a few details to get Isaac to Lydia when he is clearly at Derek's.

* * *

"I told you, I'm _fine, _I don't need–"

To say the nurse is perturbed would be an understatement. "Miss Martin–"

"I have to go!" Lydia is practically shouting, shaking as she tries to open the drawer housing her keys and her phone.

She hasn't been in a hospital since – since that time, since her harrowing foray into the woods that she still can't quite remember. The blandly coloured walls feel like they're closing in; that distinctly hospital smells pulls her back to places Lydia refuses to revist.

"You don't understand, I can't–"

"Lydia."

She whips her head around so quickly it almost hurts. Isaac stands in the doorway of her stupid hospital room, looking pale and stricken but unhurt. Lydia can feel her tunnelled anger pulling from the exasperated nurse to the werewolf, from one breath to the next.

"Isaac James Lahey if you _ever_ leave me alone in a hospital without answering your phone again I am going to kick your supernatural ass into the next millenium, do you hear me?"

He looks like he wants to laugh but there is something too sobering in his expression – Lydia's hand lands on her phone but her fingers can't manage a proper grip.

"Isaac," she starts, as the nurse senses her disappating fight and leaves with a roll of her eyes. "Isaac, what happened?"

Lydia hates, more than anything, to come in on the fringes and only have the passing air for company.

He doesn't respond fast enough; Stiles' too-bright eyes disappearing from that empty classroom flash through her minds' eye. "Stiles–"

"He's fine," Isaac cuts in, coralling the twisting fear in her stomach just a little. "He's at Derek's with Cora and Peter."

Lydia has to swallow her distate for the youngest Hale. Cora and Isaac are as much pack now as Isaac and Derek ever were – she has to accept it. She _does _accept it. "How is she?"

Isaac's stricken expression cuts even sharper into his face. "Worse." She watches his Adam's Apple bob harsh in his throat. "She's dying. Blake said she could save her, but she got away – Derek has a plan, or so he says."

Her fingers finally manage to grasp her phone; there is a message from Allison. Nothing from Stiles. "And Allison? Scott?"

Isaac's face is so pale he may as well be a ghost. Lydia is across the room before she even remembers moving, her hand landing on his arm practically of its own accord. "What–"

"He's gone," Isaac croaks, hoarse like he's been shouting. "With Deucalion. They–they took his mom, Lydia. They took Melissa. She–she and the Sheriff, they're – they're parents. Guardians."

His eyes land on the chart at the foot of her stupid hospital bed, where Lydia knows her mother's name is listed on that suddenly pivotal line: _Parent or Guardian_ – not that Mrs. Martin has been much of either in a very long time.

Her heart drops somewhere, silent. She is empty.

"I have to–" Lydia's phone clatters to the ground. "I have to – Stiles–"

Isaac's hands land on her shoulders, firm. Absolute. "Lydia, wait."

She will _not wait. _Lydia refuses to be left alone in the dark again, _waiting – _waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the world to come crashing down and for her to be left with nothing but ash in her mouth.

"Let me take you home."

Lydia shakes her head, feeling an awful desperation clawing at her throat. "There's nothing–there's no one, I just–"

"Hey." Isaac has to duck his head to catch her eye. "Hey, it's okay. Just, come with me, okay? I won't leave you, I promise."

He puts an arm around her shoulders and steers her out before she can protest further.

—

He takes her to Scott's house.

Isaac holds her hand all the way up the stairs, steers them determinedly past Scott's room to his own. Lydia shivers, drenched from two bolts from safety to the car and back again. She watches Isaac wordlessly pull clothes from drawers, handing her a long-sleeved shirt and a familiar red hoodie.

"He left it here last week," Isaac says softly. Their fingers brush as Lydia takes Stiles' hoodie and Isaac's shirt, not unlike the one she wore during their first pack sleepover all those lifetimes ago.

She is different every day, Lydia finds. Sometimes better, sometimes worse off than she was before. It's not clear who she is now – (_a banshee, right before my eyes_) Lydia can only pray tomorrow will give her some kind of clarity.

Lydia peels off her jacket and drops it at her feet. Isaac just turns around to step into the hall, as Lydia leaves a shell of herself on the floor and lets the combined comforts of Isaac and Stiles carry her onto the bed, curling into herself and holding her phone in one hand.

It takes two tries to make the call.

"_Lydia, hey – you okay?_"

_"_I should be asking you that." She tries for admonishing but lands somewhere far off. "Stiles–" His name takes two tries, too. "Stiles, we're going to find him."

A long pause. _"I hope so. Are you sure you're okay?"_

"Isaac picked me up. We're–" She almost winces. "We're at Scott's."

"_That doesn't answer my question."_

He's right of course; Lydia closes her eyes and wonders if there's anything she could say that wouldn't betray the fact that she's practically shattered along all her seams.

"I–I just..." Within this breath, Lydia just knows: she will never be this vulnerable again. "I just needed to hear your voice."

She can't take it back – part of her doesn't even want to – Lydia will just have to live with this press of her heart in her throat. And then Stiles speaks, soft and warm and full of that unnamed, frightening thing that transcends this distance and darkness and sends butterflies to live between her ribs.

"_You know I'll always be here for you._"

She nods even though he can't see her. "I thought I was supposed to be the comforting one."

Stiles makes a noise like he's smothering a laugh. "_Stay with Isaac tonight, okay? I...I feel better knowing you're safe."_

Lydia knows she should probably make some comment about her ability to protect herself, _thank you very much, _but the truth is, Isaac _is _safe. So here is exactly where she plans on staying.

Besides, Lydia isn't exactly sure what her heart is doing inside her chest, so staying still seems like the best option.

"I need _you_ to be safe, Stiles," she says, going again for something commanding and still falling short. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid like rush in without any back up _okay?"_

_"Lydia–"_

"Promise

me," she insists, and after a moment Stiles sighs in her ear.

"_I promise, okay? I do. I'll be alright."_

This does not satisfy her in the least and they both know it. Lydia jumps when she hears a muffled scream, followed by Derek's distinct, "_Stiles!"_

Stiles swears under his breath. _"Lydia, I have to go, okay? I'll–"_

And he's gone. Lydia stares at the now dark screen of her phone for a dumbfounded moment before something that sounds distinctly like _fuck this _echoes in her head and swings her feet to the floor.

"Um, going somewhere?"

Isaac seems only faintly surprised to see her halfway out of the room, the sleeves of Stiles' hoodie clutched in an unconscious grip between her fingers.

Fighting a shiver against the cool air on her bare legs, Lydia sets her features defiantly. "I'm going over there."

"Oh, no you're not." Isaac steps very calmly into her path, leaving Lydia to glare, refusing to do that stupid back and forth dance.

"Isaac, _move." _

He lets her shove fruitlessly at his chest, lets her feel stupid suddently wearing nothing but his shirt, Stiles' hoodie, and her underwear, lets her slam her fists into his sternum until she is choking on a sob and heaving for air.

"Let me _go_, Isaac, let me–" In a move too quick to see Isaac grabs her wrists, gentle but unbreakable.

"I won't." It's low and warm but there is something rough at the edges. "I won't, okay? You almost _died_ tonight, Lydia, don't tell me you've forgotten? Stiles is fine for now, okay, it's _you_ I'm worried about."

His fingers fold over hers and Lydia watches that steady calm crumple. He leans down, touching their foreheads together.

"Stay," Isaac whispers, too broken and too vulnerable. "Please just stay."

_Safe. You're safe. Isaac is safe._

_**Isaac is safe.**_

That's all she can think when Lydia leans forward and kisses him.

—

She shouldn't have, she knows. Lydia feels that knowledge in the beat of her heart, in that space where Allison lives and this thing those two have, all fleeting edges and almosts, and in that other space that Stiles occupies, a space too large for her to consider without fear taking over, because when had that happened?

But Lydia needs Isaac now, more than she knows how to say, more than she wants to need anyone right now; she doesn't understand how Isaac knows, he just does. So when he kisses her back, just for a breath, it is with such tenderness that Lydia's eyes burn with tears.

"Isaac–"

He brushes at her tears with his fingertips, and then cups the back of her neck, tilting her head foward so he can press his lips to the crown of her head.

"I know," he murmmers into her skin. "I know."

Lydia barely manages to grab at one of his wrists before her seams split and she is undone. Isaac is definitely the only thing keeping her standing as she cries, pulling Lydia in with one hand threaded up into her hair and the other curling around her waist.

She's only vaguely aware of him picking her up, effortless like it would be with a child, and the dip of the mattress as they land on the bed. Isaac is whispering, a litany of soothing things that Lydia can't focus on.

Instead there is just the warm cadence of his voice, the strong circle of his arms, and the faint scent of Stiles clinging to Lydia's skin that finally draws her down into the dark.

In the morning, she is Lydia Martin. She is a practically certified genius, she is part of packs Hale and McCall. She is immune to the bite.

In the morning, curled into Isaac with his arm around her waist and chin on top of her head, she is safe.

For now, that is enough. It _has_ to be enough.

* * *

**More Notes: **Because Lydia deserved to have her moment of weakness, too.

THE MARTINSKI KISS *STILL SCREECHING*

Annie


End file.
